Sacrificial
by eyrianone
Summary: Spoilers: Missing scenes for 'Knockout' and several for the aftermath. "I can't promise you it means anything Castle, and I can't tell you it changes anything. All I can tell you is that I need you. Tonight, I need to be with you."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Sacrificial

**Author:** Eyrianone

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** Rick Castle won't get out of my head for a moment, I think I might be possessed, but I don't own him or anyone else you recognize.

**Spoilers:** Missing scene for 'Knockout' - Occurs after the gathering at Kate's apartment, but before Roy's funeral.

**Summary:** I can't promise you it means anything Castle . . . I can't tell you it changes anything . . . all I can tell you is that I need you . . . tonight I need to be with you . . .and what I 'm asking is . . . can you give me that?

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><p>The morning after he is not surprised when he wakes up alone, but it hurts like nothing before it ever has. His body is hard and aching for her and the scent of her lingering on the linens of his bed might mean he can never enjoy clean sheets again. Exhausted he stares bleary-eyed at the alarm clock and winces when he notices it's much later than he should have been ready to go – 9.45am already.<p>

His head hits the pillow again and he closes his eyes in despair. After what happened between him and Beckett last night he always imagined the morning after would be the happiest of his life, and yet he's never felt so unsure, so lost before. He has absolutely no idea where they stand at this point, or if it's even acceptable for him to be asking that question. One minute Kate had declared them 'over' and then the night after Montgomery's death she shows up at his loft to find him drinking alone, vulnerable and incapable of denying her what she asked of him.

Hell he doesn't even know if Beckett 'cheated' on Josh with him or if sometime between their fight and last night she found time to break it off with Dr. Motorcycle boy.

The morning after Roy's death, their little sudo-family had gathered at Kate's to form a plan of action. All of them grief-stricken and reeling with feelings of betrayal, that even the Captain's last heroic act failed to completely banish; they'd nonetheless all agreed to adhere to Beckett's dictate that 'no-one' outside their group was to ever know of Montgomery's involvement with Raglan, McAllister and Lockwood. No-one.

They'd parted ways soon after, and he'd been the last to leave, shaken to his core he'd tried to find a reason to stay with her, but the pain in her green gaze warned him explicitly not to push her at this moment, she was at least talking to him, and she was still alive. He knew he have to wait for anything more than that, so he'd impulsively kissed the top of her head and with a gentle request to call him if she needed him, he'd left her to her pain, and gone home to nurse his.

In his study, the empty vintage red-glass whiskey bottle Montgomery had given him was one reminder too many of what's just been lost and as the tears pricked the back of his eyes he'd squeezed them shut angrily and headed for his liquor cabinet. Two large glasses without ice or mixer later and the pain's raw edges had been dulled a little. He's never been one for recreational drugs, never smoked, but there are moments, there have been times, when it's been easy for him to see how alcohol can become a crutch in a person's life. How the lure of drinking away your pain could become a habitual need; the slippery slope it would be so easy to loose yourself down.

So when his door buzzed he'd been nursing his fourth glass for several hours, staring motionless into space and endlessly reliving the nightmare of the night before, he'd dragged himself, numbed but still steady, to the door and when he'd opened it and there she stood, the hunger in her eyes had been what caused him to sway somewhat, the force of it knocking him sideways.

He didn't bother asking her in, he'd just stepped back out of her way and watched her walk past him, the alcohol in his system permitting him the freedom to appreciate her ass openly in a way he would never do if he was completely sober and fearful of her catching him.

When she'd stopped and turned around he'd dragged his gaze up to her face, and her expression baffled him, the predatory hunger in her gaze looked a lot like desire, but behind that her pain was still so raw, so unrelenting that the end result left her looking . . . desperate . . . it killed him.

"What's the matter Kate?" He'd said finally, when she didn't speak.

She'd shifted nervously from foot to foot, expression unchanging, finally he couldn't stand the distance that seemed to engulf them and he'd closed the gap between them, wrapping her up in his embrace and pulling her to him tightly. "Tell me Kate." He'd whispered over her head. "I'm your partner." He'd added, mentally putting them firmly back on solid ground even if he didn't really know where they stood or what they were.

At the sound of his voice some of the tension seemed to flow out of her, she'd snuggled closer, he'd felt her breathing him in and lightening shot down his spine, she must have sensed him tense because she pulled out of his arms suddenly and took a step back.

"Sorry Castle." She'd mumbled.

"No I'm sorry" He'd interrupted. "It's just that holding you is hard for me. . . it makes me want . . . never mind." He'd finished, wiping a hand across his eyes, feeling exhaustion settling everywhere.

"Me." She'd said for him. "It makes you want me . . . I understand Rick . . . it's why I'm here . . . why I couldn't seem to stay away." She'd added nervously, almost shyly, lightening shot down his spine for a second time and he'd groaned, closing his eyes and blocking her out.

"I can't promise you it really means anything Castle . . . I can't tell you it changes anything . . . all I can tell you is that I need you. You . . . more than anything else right now, I need to be with you . . . so what I 'm asking is . . . can you give me that?

His eyes had shot open. In tortured disbelief he'd stared at her open mouthed, half of him elated that she was telling him she wanted him as primally as he had always wanted her, the other half devastated that their first time should come about like this. That it should come with no guarantees, not be the start of an evolution in their relationship. Making love should be the beginning of forever for them, he already knew no-one could ever replace her in his heart, he was too far gone, already committed . . . she was already everything to him . . . to give himself without knowing it meant as much to her, that it wasn't just. . . sex. For a moment he'd thought there was no way he could do it, not this way, and then her beautiful eyes had filled with tears, and her grief, her confusion hit him like a tsunami. He could not say 'No'. It was not an option, he'd promised her 'always' meaning anything, anytime, now, tomorrow, doesn't matter when, and she was telling him what she needed right now was a connection to him; to life, to something real, physical, something that would send her pain, confusion and feelings of betrayal screaming into the night.

An anchor.

Just then she'd turned to go, obviously assuming the tortured expression in his eyes was a refusal he couldn't speak, and he'd reached for her once more, fairly yanked her into his arms, brought his mouth down over hers and given in.

As he lies in his bed now, still hard and aching the memories rush back, fire burning down his nerve endings, flames licking at his sanity. They'd come together almost violently, he had bruises to prove it; fighting for supremacy she hadn't allowed him to slow things down for a second. And once he'd lost the fight to take it slow, he just gave, everything, all that he was and more until she'd screamed as she came and dragged him with her. Again, and then again she'd reached for him in the night, forcing him to wakefulness and back into the maelstrom of dark almost dangerous passion ignited between them.

And now she was gone, and he was late, he should have been at the funeral home with her fifteen minutes ago.

Tears prick his eyes again; tears of loss for both his fallen friend, and the broken dream of what loving Beckett for the first time would be like. He has intimate knowledge of her now, his body knows hers, his tongue knows her taste, his eyes her curves and it can never be undone. He will see her, and in his mind see her crying as she comes apart beneath him . . . and not happy tears, just tears of relief that something in her world is real.

Brokenly he fights his emotions back. They'll get past this happening this way between, they'll find their way, he has to believe this, because he loves her so much . . . he's never told her . . . but someday he will.

He get's up, texts her that he's running late and that he'll bring coffee, and then he hits the shower and is out the door ten minutes later. He doesn't dream in this moment that someday will come far sooner than he imagines . . . or that his declaration of love might be the last thing in this world Katherine Beckett ever hears.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N. So this was supposed to be a one shot scene . . . but then I guess Kate needed her own little one in there too, so now it's twin missing scenes from Knockout. Enjoy.**

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><p>When he's late to meet her at the funeral home she's wonders whether in her desperation she might have pushed him too far. Then her phone buzzes with a text message from him advising her that he's running late and she exhales shakily around a sigh of relief.<p>

She hasn't slept at all but her body hums despite her utter exhaustion. She'd watched him sleep for an hour after their third time, just studying the planes of his face, half hidden in the pillow next to her, and when it struck her how much she wanted to remain there, next to him, how desperately she wanted to lay claim to that spot always – that was when she got up, dressed, and fled.

At home she'd hit the shower immediately and under the hot relaxing spray she surveyed the damage, bruises on her thighs, her hips, and a hickey on the underside of her right breast. When she exits the shower and spies Josh's toothbrush in the holder next to hers guilt burns in her belly, so much betrayal all around her yet she's inflicted it too. Her eyes fall closed around the sting of tears, hours later and she can still feel Castle within her, still feel the heat. She is grateful beyond measure for the sacrifice he made for her last night, as she flailed, teetering on the edge of the rabbit hole she'd realized only one person could save her, could give her something real enough to hold onto.

It isn't the way she pictured them together, in those rare sweet moments when she allowed herself that particular dream, and she knows she burned his dreams of her to ash in the firestorm that followed his capitulation. Dark, dangerous and hungry the despair controlling her threatened to destroy her from the inside out, ripping all trust, all connection, all hope away. She'd needed to fight darkness with light, with the one thing, the one person who could reach her, be there with her, anchor her through it. So she'd asked, and he'd given, no matter the cost to him, no matter the pain, he'd given her every part of himself and now, despite what she'd said to him about not knowing that it meant anything, there can never be a turning back.

They were changed forever now. No longer just friends, or writer and muse, now . . . now they really were partners . . . lovers, it was done . . . and there were guarantees . . . she suddenly realized, guaranteed she wouldn't survive losing him - not anymore.

He arrives with anxious eyes and nervous demeanour that last until their fingers brush as he hands her coffee, each of them pulling back as if burned by the desire singing down nerve endings from that small innocent touch. He goes to apologize and she can't stand to see him so unsure, not when she's only standing here able to function because she still has him to trust in. She reaches for his hand and wraps her fingers in his, feels the heat rise up and then subside to hum between them as an almost tangible connection. His face breaks into a smile, the lop-sided charming one that always warms her insides and he raises their joined hands to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with the barest hint of a kiss.

"I'm sorry I'm late Kate." He says shyly, emotion swirls heavily in the blue of his eyes, as he searches for some clue in her face, some guide to get them past this initial awkwardness over all they've done and become to each other in the few short hours past.

"Not a problem." She says quickly, adding "Thank you. Rick. For what you did last night . . . it means far more than I can express right now, you were my solid ground."

His eyes bore into hers, seeking out regret and when he finds it shimmering amongst the green and gold his shoulders sag perceptibly and he looks quickly away, hiding his hurt behind the rim of his coffee cup.

She can't take it.

"Don't look at me like that Castle – it's not what you think . . . I swear to you I don't regret anything but the 'why'. I won't run from what we did, from all that's changed between us, and we will get through it . . . just give it some time . . . please Rick." Her voice breaks slightly on his given name and his hurt eases a little.

For a long moment they simply look at each other, then Castle, being Castle has to ask the one thing she was hoping he wouldn't.

"What about Josh?"

What about him indeed. She'll have to admit the truth to Castle . . . she cheated, he's still there between them though its pointless to hide in that relationship anymore . . . Castle must know how she actually feels about him now.

"I'll . . . I will deal with that. With Josh." She says, fighting to look Castle in the eye, forcing herself to watch as he tries and fails to mask his hurt from her again.

"OK." He says mildly. "I guess we should go and deal with these arrangements then." And he turns towards the funeral home taking three quick strides away from her before he senses she's not behind him. She watches as he stops, straightens his shoulders and when he turns back to face her she couldn't fault his poker face if she tried. For a moment she simply wants to cross the distance between them and bury herself in his strong arms and beg him to forgive her for not already being free, for making him 'the other man', for letting anything less than perfect honesty into their relationship.

But she does none of this.

She does not tell him she loves him either . . . but she will. Just not until she's stronger, not until the funeral has been dealt with, and Josh has been dealt with and she's found something other than just him to believe in again.

Someday. Someday soon she thinks. So she smiles at him beseechingly instead and he holds out his hand for her, a simple sign of acceptance that he'll do all of this on her terms.

She doesn't think in these moments that she may never get the chance to tell him that she dreams of, but that regardless his love for her will surround her always in this world.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N. This is getting out of hand apparently, not exactly a missing scene, since this is right after the end of Knockout, but there was more to be said and another point of view to involve.**

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><p>You make sacrifices for the ones you love. All his life he's been taught this as a golden rule and even though it's hard, so much harder right now than it's ever been, he still can hear his mother's voice telling him this, insisting that it is a very simple truth. He saw it demonstrated in actions not just words. His father continuing to work seventy hours a week at a job he hated to save enough money to put his three son's through college. He saw it in his mother's tears, every time she had to say goodbye to her sister, or his grandparents visiting from England and he knew how much his mother must love his father, and her children, that she remained in the US when she so clearly wanted to go home.<p>

His younger brother took an apprenticeship instead of his share of college money to enable Josh to afford medical school and so the golden rule continued – you make sacrifices for the ones you love – this is the only way.

He's managed to save her, and his heart is torn in two. One the one side, she's alive, and eventually she'll be as good as new, this makes him happy and proud, he's the best of the best when it comes to what he does and it's in no small part due to his skill and dedication as a surgeon that the woman he loves has survived the attempt on her life. On the other side of the equation there is the cost of the knowledge he's gained while acting as he's done, knowledge he wasn't prepared for, doesn't want, and can hardly believe is true.

She's betrayed him, in the worst way, when he's made such huge personal and professional sacrifices for her. Even now, as he stands outside the OR, her blood on his scrubs watching her being wheeled into the elevator that will transfer her to ICU, he can hardly believe it. That she could be someone so different from whom and what he believed her to be, it crushes him.

Part of him feels a murderous rage to kill, so much worse in those moments when he had to squash it in order to simply save. Focus on that, he'd yelled silently at himself, focus on saving her life, preserving it, even if you know that you won't be the one who benefits from her continuing existence, even if you know now for sure that you aren't the one she loves.

It's just the way he found out that's torturing him now. He just doesn't see how finding out could have been any worse than this, even finding them in bed together would have been less painful somehow, at least then he could have owned to his rage, let it out, given it fuel, directed it. Who directs rage at a woman struggling even to live?

Not him. He can't. Every instinct he possesses urges him to nurture the sick, and still he hears his mother telling him – you make sacrifices for the ones you love Joshua, and you get stronger from them, I promise you my darling boy, it's the only way.

It was when he cracked her chest open that he saw it, he should not even have been there, you should not perform surgery on people you love, but he's on call, and in comes an emergency, dire, things don't look good, a serious GSW to the chest and the victim is bleeding out. It's a cop, in a uniform. He doesn't understand what he's walking into until he hits the OR and there she is, and he can't leave then can he, he's on call and he's her only chance.

Surgical nurses strip the distracting uniform from her body, she's left in panties, that's it and he doesn't see much at first, his instincts are all focused on damage control, but when he goes to open her up, to get at the source of the problem he sees it, from the corner of his eye and for one tiny moment he's robbed of any ability to move.

Her skin is pale, a fine sheen of sweat covers her torso, her lips are turning blue and the mark is stark, he thinks it can't possibly be what it looks like, it's a smudge of her blood, there's so much of it leaking from the wound, but he wipes at it with a gloved finger and it's as real as his horror. A love-bite on the underside of her breast, and they haven't been together in a couple of weeks . . . he didn't do this . . . but someone else did, and he immediately knows who.

A nurse calls his name and he pulls himself by strength of will alone back into the matter at hand, he tries not to see the finger shaped fading bruises on her hips, he tries not to picture how they must have been made. He tries, and for the duration of her surgery he succeeds in keeping the images for the most part at bay, but once the danger is past, once the requirement of his involvement ends, he can't stem the tide any longer.

A year they've been together and lovers from the first, so it's too easy for him to see them together in his head, he has so much knowledge to feed the cascade of pornographic imagery flooding his conscious mind. Kate and Richard Castle . . . because it can't be anybody else can it? He's known that the playboy author's in love with her from the first. Not that he's really ever seen them together, but what he has seen has been enough to fuel the idea. That sudden flash of pain in the author's handsome face with its bright blue eyes and irritatingly perfect hair every time they've happened to cross paths, the way he beats a hasty retreat. Josh knew. He just knew. And now he doesn't want to know.

He doesn't want to know his girlfriend, the woman he thought he might marry, has another lover. He doesn't want to see the evidence of that the way he has. He doesn't want to lose her, when he's given up Haiti, and Uganda, and the work that he'd hoped would shape his life. He's doesn't want any of this to be more than a bad dream but he can't hide from the truth, he can't pretend it isn't very real. He can't be a coward, or a jerk, or anything less than a man about it, because he hears his mother's voice and he always makes her proud.

He has to face the man responsible for the knowledge that he's gained. He has to tell him that the woman they both love will survive; he has to let him know . . . that he's done, that Kate is his now, because Josh is walking away, away from her lies, from her walls, and from her life. That he won't make anymore sacrifices in the name of a love that is not returned, and he won't stand in the way of a love that clearly cannot be denied.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N. This may be done now . . .not sure, but it occurred to me that Martha might be the only one who truly already knows how Castle feels about Kate. She's seen her wordsmith son robbed of any ability to even describe what it would mean for him if anything happened to his partner. She's a wise woman in many respects . . . and she's known him all his life, she MUST see how different what he feels for Kate is from anything that's come before.**

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><p>She tucks her granddaughter against her side in the confines of the dimly lit interior of the taxi-cab, gives the driver their upper west-side address in hushed tones and sits back, allowing her eyes to momentarily fall closed. There is a huge knot of pain sitting dead center of her chest and anything more than a few words at a time leaves her choking to continue around the ever-present threat of tears.<p>

She can't actually remember a more awful day, and that thought alone brings a fresh wave of dread, her dramatic nature, the one her oh so creative son inherited works against her on days like today, but for once, for once Martha Rodgers is admirably holding her own.

Taking comfort from the warm gentle presence of the teenager nestled beside her, Martha feels her heart breaking for her son and the absolute agony she knows with her mother's intuition that he is currently enduring. Kate is still in surgery, and there has been no good news.

"I've never seen Dad like that." Alexis' quiet voice seems lost even in the confined space, and Martha steels herself for the conversation she knows lies ahead.

"Your father is in a lot of pain right now kiddo." She says, voice graven. "I know you didn't want to leave him, but he doesn't want you to see him like that . . . and he needs to do this alone sweetheart, without feeling like he has to be strong for us, that's just one added pressure too many." She adds.

Alexis untangles herself from her grandmother's side, her lovely face stained with tears, eyes rimmed red.

"Is Kate going to die Grams?" She asks.

Martha shakes her head helplessly. "Pray that she doesn't Alexis . . . pray very, very hard, because it certainly looks a little bleak right now. I hope I'm wrong."

Alexis nods her head once. "First her mom, then those other people, then those retired cops, and Captain Montgomery . . . and now Kate. I'm scared Grams . . . what if the person who shot Kate thinks Dad is in the way too?"

Martha feels her stomach relocate itself into her windpipe, for a moment she debates internally about what she's about to say, but she's seen it in her son's eyes . . . and his daughter deserves to know.

"Alexis I want you to listen to me, and then I want you to promise me something, and it's going to seem like the most awful promise you can make . . . like the strangest thing I would ever ask of you, but you have to trust me that I'm only telling you this, only asking of you this, because you are no longer a little girl."

Outside the taxi there is a flash of lightening followed by the crash of thunder and as the sky suddenly darkens it begins to rain, the thudding on the roof of the cab and the encroaching darkness from outside lend her grandmother's eyes even more wisdom than normal, and Alexis forces herself to stillness, and hopes she looks more like an adult than she feels right now.

"Okay Grams . . . I'm listening."

Martha manages a smile, and hopes to God she's doing the right thing. "Alexis, you understand that your Dad is in love with Kate don't you?" She begins.

Alexis blushes, small spots of red staining the white canvas of her face. "I kinda thought he might be." She admits very quietly. "But since she has a boyfriend and Dad only recently broke up with Gina . . . I guess I haven't really thought about it much. Dad . . . he hasn't said anything to me about it, but today, when he dived for her . . . it was there on his face." She finishes.

Martha shakes her head. "This isn't like your mother kiddo or Gina or like anytime before when your Dad thought he was in love. This is different Alexis, this is a different state . . . he would have taken that bullet for her today Alexis . . . and taken it gladly and you need to prepare yourself my darling, because if we lose Kate today . . . a big part of your father will die with her, he'll never be the same."

Alexis' eyes widen in fear, and then she remembers how her father was at the hospital, his knuckles white, his inability to sit still, the tears that kept frustrating him as they coursed down his face and he angrily swiped them away. She remembers that he didn't talk, did not acknowledge the presence of any of them with him, would not change his shirt, though it was stained with her blood and she remembers his eyes . . . and shudders. When she'd told her grandmother she'd never seen her father like that it was his eyes she was really referring too. Richard Castle is famous for those vivid blue orbs, for the charm and fun they contain, for the laughter and mischief always sparkling in their depths. Her father's eyes have always been her favorite part of his face, she can always tell what he's thinking by searching them, and today . . . today they simply weren't his.

Today, they were gray not blue. Red from tears and devoid of life the only thing residing in their depths had been a pain she could not describe and an anger he could barely contain. It made his face almost foreign to her . . . her fun-loving, always joking man-child father had become someone different, a stranger, a man with no humor, no charm and murderous rage at the center of his soul. She cannot ever remember seeing him feeling something so deeply and the fear she's already feeling ratchets up.

"I love Kate Grams, really I do, but I don't want Dad to get hurt. He isn't a cop, he's not supposed to be in danger, and I don't think he should follow her around anymore." The red-head says vehemently.

Martha sighs. She feels the exact same way, as much as she also loves the fearless detective, as a mother she wants her only child safe, but as a woman, as a person whose known love . . . she knows how hopeless what she wishes for is.

"You can't ask him to do that Alexis. You must not - promise me." She says softly, taking the girls hand and squeezing it fiercely, "You have to understand what that would do to him in the long run." She says, feeling her own eyes fill with terrified tears.

"Because you don't think he would do it?" Alexis asks, "He's my Dad, Grams, wouldn't he do it for me?" She says.

Martha nods. "Of course he would kiddo . . . but you can't ask him to sacrifice his soul because you don't want to lose him. You must not do it, just as I can't ask it of him either, because as much as he loves you Alexis, and he loves you more than anything, you're his child, you'll always be the most important person in his life. But you'll grow up sweetheart, and fall in love, and someday be a parent yourself and you won't need him like you do now, you'll love your own child more than you love him – that's the way it's supposed to be. You can't ask, because you aren't little and dependent, but almost grown and strong as hell, and because though he will do it if you ask him too – you'll be the instrument that destroys him if you make him abandon the woman he's willing to die for. Promise me Alexis, if we love him, we have to let him be who he needs to be."

Silence descends. Only the rain hammering on the roof remains . . . and still the city darkens.

Alexis swallows her instinctive protests, she swallows her fears and her own desires and she thinks over what her grandmother's telling her. She silences her inner child, weeping and frightened and recalls the stranger back at the hospital with the foreign eyes in her father's familiar face. Her Dad is in love her Grams says. So in love that he'd have stepped in front of the bullet that hit Kate if he could have, so in love that he'll remain in danger to fight beside her again if she survives today, and Alexis suddenly understands that if she can envy that commitment to another person, if she can dream of wanting a love like that herself, then she has her answer.

"Okay Grams. I understand, and I promise."

Martha searches the teenagers' eyes and smiles at the strength of will and resolve she sees there. "We have to make the sacrifice here kiddo, if we want to see him whole, and happy, we have to be willing to let him risk everything in pursuit of it. What those two have Alexis . . . nothing should stand in the way of it my darling, because loving like that is what it means to be human."


End file.
